


roboreap and jack have a bad adventure

by kabrox18



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 05:18:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7922020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kabrox18/pseuds/kabrox18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>oops another OW AU<br/>this time with my problematic faves in a blade runner style cyberpunk universe.<br/>[some implied black death lol bc i'm weak for spider and dead guy]</p>
            </blockquote>





	roboreap and jack have a bad adventure

“So this is Old Runner?” The alien machine asked, red-pupiled eyes turning up to read over the neon and fluorescent lights.  
“Yep,” replied the other, not looking up.  
“Bright,” the supercomputer mumbled, monotone dipping in pitch for a moment. They stepped into the old diner together, the tall android almost having to duck to fit in. Jack waved to the automaton behind the bar, stepping forward over a rail track to take a seat.  
“Evening, Morrison,” the robot replied, singular eye turning toward the other machine, lens buzzing slightly when it squinted.  
“Who’s this?”  
“Goes by Reaper,” Jack said, watching the other sit slowly, long digitigrade legs flexing to sit more comfortably on the barstool.  
“Never seen a model like that.”  
“I'm not from around here.” Four claws tap at the countertop, two uncomfortably human eyes fixing on the single tubular camera-eye of the old customer service bot.  
“Where ya from, then?”  
“I won't divulge that information.” There's a digital huff from the bot, who rolls out of the bar on the track, heading into the kitchen to make food. It leaves Jack and Reaper, the machine silent spare for the sounds of its body.  
“So, you're looking for someone around here right? Somewhere near the Golden Strip?”  
“I was told my target was at Last Resort club. Near the upper floors.”  
“Wards,” Jack corrected, getting fixed with a sharp glare. Those eyes narrowed, spiral-grooved steel irises contracting over the red before expanding.  
“You're an idiot,” it finally says, monotone and bored-sounding as ever.  
“Maybe, but if you want to slip in unnoticed you need to at least act like you know the area.”  
“Why do you think I'm bringing you, squishy?” It shifts, turning away a bit as it looks around, continually scanning for threats. Another two people come in without problems, taking seats further down the diner from them. A third though, comes in, and clearly has something to say to the two of them.  
“You got a lot of nerve bringing an android around here,” the person sneers, Jack subtly shaking his head to the machine at his side.  
“Yeah, and?”  
“Gonna kick it out. No androids besides service bots allowed in eating or resting establishments.”  
“That's not a passed law, yet.”  
“Will be!” The guy laughs, and Reaper stands, stepping fluidly around the barstool to the man, pulling two objects that look like handles, neither much longer than the average pen. It shifts its grip and the ends glow, the hardlight tracing lines out of space and forming planes and angles, the slick pieces snapping together as he raised them.  
“Try and kick me out. You'll be missing a head if you touch me.” Even despite the bland, unchanging tone, the mechanical voice that purrs out has a dangerous edge to it. Jack stands to push the machine back--no such luck.  
“Come on, Reaper, we aren't here to shoot people.”  
“Maybe not. But it's a definite bonus.”  
Jack gives it as much of a venomous look as he can through his visor, failing miserably.  
“Get out of the way,” it said, easily moving Jack away, advancing on the guy. Morrison did some quick thinking and barked out to the machine.  
“If you kill that man I won't take you to where you need to go.” That makes the bounty hunter freeze dead in its tracks, straightening to turn and glare at the human, clearly trying to determine whether or not he was lying.  
“Have you ever read Isaac Asimov?” Jack says, quieter. No reply, but the red narrows to pinpricks and the android settles back, weapons seemingly vanishing into thin air as it tucks the handles back into its belt.  
“The three laws of robotics were in one of his books. One of ‘em is a robot can't hurt a human. You'd be breaking one of the fundamental rules of you killed him; they’d hunt you down and blow you to scrap, or capture and dismantle you. They don't care where you're from.” The supercomputer looks back to the terrified human, raising a hand to jab a finger into his chest, leaning in close.  
“Try that again and I don't care what they do to me. You will be dead.” The person nods and scurries off, Reaper coming to sit again. It’s whirring now, vent-flaps over its back popping open to dispel the extra heat.  
“I hate humans,” it grits out, unchanging voice taking a decidedly annoyed tone.  
“I know you do,” Jack says simply.  
\------  
Machines and people alike swarmed under the too-bright light of building-covering advertisements and huge neon signs, a low drone coming up as they all talked and walked. A lithe machine sprang up two ledges, climbing up to a third, bigger one. The human clinging to its back crawled off, standing on the ledge and looking out. “The entrance is around the corner. It's supposed to be reserved for the rich but, y'know.” The supercomputer said nothing as it moved in, Jack following after looking down to the crowds one last time. Reaper is almost perfectly quiet despite its metal claw-feet, and the human is secretly jealous as they slip right past the pair of bouncers unnoticed. At least, he hopes they got in unnoticed. They work their way up to a barely used balcony, then up stairs to the next floor. They find an old service elevator and ride it up, Morrison looking to the machine.  
“You okay? You look like one of your belts is timed wrong.”  
“I don't have belts,” it said simply, “at least, not internally. You forget I'm not a human construction.”  
“I figured you'd at least be close.” The conversation doesn't really continue after that--they're interrupted by the doors opening. They head out, moving quickly to another high balcony with only two people in it; both seem to be asleep. Reaper scans over the people below, eyes roving around for the half-mechanical visage of his target. Once he finds them he doesn't look away, pulling out a rod that's a third of a meter long--he snaps it along a seam, holding the pieces a certain way and allowing a long rifle to form from it.  
“I thought you had a thing for killing your targets up close and personal?”  
“I do, but there's a reason I'm one of the greatest bounty hunters. I don't get caught. There's too many people down there, and even luring them out and alone is risky.” He rests the rifle on the edge of the balcony, settling down and leaning against it, resting a metallic cheek to the cool hardlight. There’s a long pause, the android shifting subtly to keep focused on its target--once the cyborg is singled out, there's a sound like a person snapping their fingers, and shouts of alarm and shock when the person collapses, dead. Reaper lets out a low machine purr, lifting its head to watch the chaos unfold below as it dismantles the rifle, placing the baton back where it belongs before heading back to the service elevator.  
“Surprisingly you didn't get in my way,” the hunter mused aloud, looking to Jack.  
“I just stood there.”  
“Ah, but most insist on staying for just a bit longer. You didn't. Your presence may actually beneficial to me,” it said, watching him to gauge his reaction.  
“You saying I can stay with you?”  
“Until I leave.”  
“Sounds good.”  
\------  
Reaper is behind Jack, silent and pensive as they walk the drab, carpeted hall. The human stops at door 545, swiping a card over the interface and allowing it to unlock. Someone is sitting, cleaning a slick rifle that has some unusual additions. Long hair tied in a smooth ponytail rolls over their shoulder and there's a helmet of some kind as well as cybernetic armor.  
“Evening Monsieur Jack.” The person murmurs, swiping up the last bit of dirt on the stock of the rifle, quickly piecing it together again.  
“Evening Amélie.”  
“How was your trip?”  
“Interesting.” This _Amélie_ stands, setting her rifle and the tools down with it in a briefcase, tucking the cloth in and closing it. Reaper watches her with obvious interest as she turns, a barely noticeable expression of surprise going over her face as she walks over.  
“Who might this be?”  
“It goes by Reaper--I don't know if it has a model number. It's not exactly from around here.” He shrugs, and the two shake hands. Amélie seems surprised.  
“Its hands are warm?” She looks over toward Jack.  
“Like I said, some of it doesn't make sense to me.” She blinks, twice, looking up slightly to meet the sharp, unblinking gaze of those inhuman eyes.  
“So, Reaper, what is your function?”  
“I have no single function; I operate as a bounty hunter, currently, but I've taken other crafts to pass time or keep myself hidden.” She nods, smiling mirthlessly.  
“I too hunt for others. Perhaps you've heard of Widowmaker?” Those eyes narrow, irises giving a barely audible whine as they contract.  
“Yes. In passing.”  
“Well, good to know.” She pulls away and bows elegantly, then spins on her heel and leaves the room with the briefcase that holds her rifle. Jack shakes his head a bit at her theatrics, going to sit and relax a moment. A few seconds pass and Reaper still stands there; he looks over to the machine, who is staring blankly out the window.  
“Something wrong?”  
“I don’t rest. I take another job and move on.” Jack sighs softly, resting his cheek in his palm.  
“Well maybe Amélie can help. I think she's looking for work too.” The android nods and leaves, following after where he saw the sniper go.  
\------  
Amélie walks briskly to the bustling market, trade and commerce that skirt _legal_ happening around her and her unusual partner.  
“So, Reaper,” she begins, looking back for a moment to the alien machine, “what kind of job would you like?”  
“I will choose from the given offers.” He says, and she smirks at the testy monotone. It's an interesting creature--a machine with real emotion that it hides behind a bland voice and inscrutable skeletal faceplate.  
“Ah, of course,” she says airily, heading to her usual source of payment. An older labor bot with broken glass over its single eye and only one functioning hand--the other is missing, though the joint suggests a weapon. _E45_ is painted in clay brown on the side of its blocky chest, and a removed Gatling barrel is replaced by a large carrying case for who knows what.  
“Bastion!” It stops, turns toward her, and waves in its jerky way.  
“I have a new customer.” She tugged Reaper forward, coming closer to the rusted unit. The cracked eye turns up toward it, then the machine nods, offering its hand. Reaper shakes it, pupils wide in what Amélie assumes is curiosity.  
“This is Bastion, he’s an old Omnic brand unit, E45. Military, weapons removed and relegated to menial labor. Now he works as a bounty distributor here in the Underground.” Reaper nods, and Bastion chirps, raising its hand to allow a small bird to perch atop its fingertips.  
“I thought all but humans and a few plants were extinct?” Reaper wonders aloud, eyes fixing sharply on the bird.  
“Ganymede is a synthetic animal. He is more or less a half-machine clone.” That draws a vague mechanical noise out of the android.  
“Alright, Bastion, now that you've met Reaper, let's get some jobs going, yes?” The robot nods, walking them to a small room with a desk. Ganymede flutters up to a ledge, perching and eating some seeds out of a dish. Bastion goes behind the desk, pulling open a drawer and sifting through it before pulling a folder out, setting it on the desk, returning to looking through the drawer. A few more repeats of this occur, before the robot stops and pats the folders.  
“Thank you. Mind if we stay here a moment and go through them?” It nods, walking out of the room to leave them be. Reaper picks the first one up, looking it over a moment before opening it to read over the information inside. Almost immediately, it seems satisfied.  
“I'll take this one.” She looks to it in surprise.  
“You aren't going to look over the others?”  
“No. I like this one,” it said simply.  
“Alright then. Go tell Bastion, then go ahead and handle it--that is, unless you need help.”  
“I don't,” it sniffed, sounding a bit offended at the proposal. It stood and left the room, heading out to meet with Bastion.  
\------  
No one seemed to suspect the machine walking amongst them. It passed through groups and crowds of anyone from human to android and all those in between. It hums to itself as it walks along, eyes meeting the flickering sign of the megacorp it was to infiltrate. The soft _pap pap pap_ of raindrops on its hood brought its hand up, the water tinkling on impact with its palm. It pulled the appendage back and moved faster, springing up and scaling the side of the building easily. The fifteenth floor was a good distance up, but it only had to stop twice to vent and cool off. The rain helped--the water was ice cold and kept the heat from damaging anything. It got to the fifteenth floor, inspecting the airtight seal of the large window. Someone opened the blinds and window; it cloaked, melting away with precision only an AI-supercomputer hybrid like itself could try for. The patterning wavered only slightly, distorting to cover its shadow at a curious expression from the person. They leaned out and reached toward it, a snap decision coming to fruition. A mechanical hand snaps up, flinging the inquisitive person out the window. They scream on the way down and it takes a sickening sort of delight that forces it to vent again as it slips in. The machine gives the area a once-over, checking for pointers to the target. The scream drew in security bots--the cloak ticks off due to warmth from the paneling threatening to bring it to overheat. The first automatons call out the threat, storming the room and raising hefty guns. Reaper reacted machine-fast, flicking out its baton and folding it over, hardlight oozing out in a shield. High powered rounds pinged off the metal-hardlight fusion harmlessly, but pushed the android back hard, talons ripping up carpet. It gave a low grating sound out of irritation--this was already going badly. Time for plan B. It dropped the shield and cloaked, almost screaming at the strain on _everything._ It bolted out the window in three long strides and a jump, firing a grappling hook up toward the building. It connected and dragged it upward, vents hissing steam as it clung to the concrete, trying to cool off and recharge.  
“Okay,” it muttered aloud to itself, “getting shot by six war machines against one piddly shield isn’t the way to go about this.” It checked itself over for injuries--nothing but a low charge and a near-overheat. “Damn,” it grumbled, climbing up into the nearby window which was already open.  
And right into a corporate meeting.  
“Hello,” It said, pupils blown wide as they’d go--the red almost took up its whole eyes. The furthest person from him waves and the room is silent for a long time while the android stands there, looking shocked and a bit alarmed as it vented too much heat.  
“Do you need help?” One asks, going to it slowly.  
“Well, I’d say yes, but frankly I’m here to kill someone two floors below you.” A few pairs of eyes go wide at that, but nobody calls security and it relaxes the tiniest bit.  
“Well don’t let us stop you--most of those people are greedy. You’re the third assassin sent after them.”  
“Third? Do I want to know what happened to the others?”  
“Let’s just say humans don’t fare well against guns.” The machine shrugs and moves to leave the room, pulling the baton free again before changing its mind and switching to the paired handles, calling the powerful shotguns. It moves quickly, dropping down the swirling stairwell to the fifteenth floor again. The door creates a perfect bottleneck; the android stops to place a few laser traps, stepping out to look around in search of the pesky automatons responsible for his near-death. One stomps close, chugging away--it stops, trills an alarm, and chases the robot into the stairwell. The lasers go off, searing long black marks into the pristine metal; they don't track like some traps but it forces the thing to dedicate more power to venting the excess heat, allowing Reaper to shred it with little effort. This scenario plays out a total of six times--after that, there are no more security bots. If there were, anyway, it could handle them as they’d likely try to flank it by themselves. Easy prey.  
It finds the correct door, taking the time to shut down the local alarm system before breaking in, looking around for its target. The man is seated behind a large desk, fingers steepled as he looks over a projected stock chart.  
“Oh look. Another assassin.” He sounds terribly bored and Reaper hangs back. Something about this is wrong. It looks around suspiciously, weapons vanishing; the handles go back into its belt and pulls the baton instead, configuring it into a short range automatic.  
“Tch, not much of a change. Figured a walking supercomputer like you’d be smarter.” It stays silent, choosing not to bite into the baiting words.  
“Well? Come on you gross machine, let's get on with it.” Reaper growls and steps in, looking up in shock at the activation chirp of the heaviest Gatling gun it’s ever set eyes on. A fraction of a second later and the shield is up, the weapon hammering down impossibly hard. The android snarls with the strain and backs out of the room, dropping the shield to relax, venting and whipping around to face another one of the damn autosentries. It backs up quick, darting in a jagged line as the rifle comes back up, opening into the other machine. This is the worst job it’s had in at least thirty years. Does it need an upgrade? No, no, not that, it thinks as it rolls neatly behind some oak desk that takes the brunt of a dozen shots. It’s up-to-date, too. Not that. It leans out, looking to the dumb machine and gauging the angle of attack. It thinks a moment, looking to the small rifle in its hands--the damn thing was useless against blunt force like this. It took less than a quarter second to bring up the memory of all the baton’s configurations, the same to select one. It shifts, breaking the rifle and holding the halves differently; a massive energy slinger burns into reality. It stands, hefting the hulk of hardlight and opening fire. The plasma gives a roaring retort, trilling as a hail of blue-white energy sears out, shredding and melting the sentry’s armor, taking it down in seconds. Reaper stops to vent again--damn, this thing’s recoil was awful. The situation made its core ache with the effort of controlling it. It rolled its neck in annoyance and tread in heavily, quickly turning to melt the long barrels of the gatling gun, turning them to white-hot sludge almost instantly. It swept the cannon across the room, leaving a long line of blue-black scorch marks. The target tries to run--there's nowhere to go and he gets mowed down in the hail of rounds. Reaper purrs at the sight of another target dropping dead; it was a messy hell of a job but it was _complete._  
\------  
“You did what now?” Jack asked the android incredulously. The three of them--that is, himself, Amélie, and Reaper--were all seated in a small restaurant. A song Jack doesn't recognize is playing, but Reaper seems to enjoy it.  
“I killed maybe ten Omnic units, the target, and removed a threatening human on the way.”  
“What about that part with the half-dozen E73s that all shot at you all at once? How are you not dead?”  
“The wonders of advanced hardlight tech,” the android says simply, purring a bit in enjoyment. Jack huffs a bit and squints at those inhuman red eyes, wondering what’s really going on in that hyper-intelligent artificial brain it’s got. Amélie seems amused behind him, and Jack turns to frown at her disapprovingly. He’s interrupted by food, and helps the waitress set everything up. Even Reaper partakes in the dinner, sipping a glass of raw fuel through a rather humorous bendy straw.  
“I appreciate the kindness,” it says, drinking up the thick brownish liquid.  
“It was no problem, Reaper. After all, even for hating humans, you're rather polite to us.”  
“For good reason. You have yet to do anything but benefit me.” It taps one claw at the side of the glass, watching them thoughtfully. Both look to each other and smile a bit, the android leaning in as well; like it thought that would help it decipher humans and their odd social cues. After a moment it gives up, grumbling and sipping at the fuel.


End file.
